


Feeding Ray

by allaire mikháil (allaire)



Category: due South
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, Plot What Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2001-01-22
Updated: 2001-01-22
Packaged: 2017-10-02 22:48:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allaire/pseuds/allaire%20mikh%C3%A1il
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fraser only intends to feed Ray Kowalski - but he discovers soon that lunch breaks can be spent in an altogether different way... <i>("Serge Awards 2001"-winner in the PWP-category)</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Feeding Ray

"Dief, would you please stop complaining?" My look at Dief is very close to a scowl, I'm afraid, but Diefenbaker has been trying my patience for more than an hour now. "You _know_ you need more exercise. You're not supposed to live on a diet of donuts, you know. Even if Ray is setting a bad example."

Dief huffs quietly and pointedly ignores me, as usual. My wolf is getting soft. But I can't find it in myself to blame Ray for slipping him the occasional donut here and there. I very much can't be angry at Ray for anything at the moment...

The next passerby looks at me strangely for a moment, and I realize that I must be wearing a pretty silly grin on my face. My face gets warm in embarrassment, but for once, I don't care.

I stop at the shop entrance to my right and politely hold open the door for the overwrought-looking woman with the heavy shopping bags trying to slip out of her grasp, allowing her to step out on the street. She gives me a half smile and a short "Thank you." before she hurries to the bus, managing to press herself through its doors only a second before the vehicle screeches away again, leaving a little cloud of exhaust fumes that makes me sneeze.

Dief whines.

I turn around, exasperated. "Seriously, Dief, you can't just have donuts, you have to take the rest of Chicago along with them. Yes, it _is_ pollution, and yes, it's not healthy. Neither for you nor for me. But you decided for yourself to accompany me to this city instead of staying up north, so please don't complain. I'd give a lot to see snow again, too."

Diefenbaker is still sitting on his haunches on the pavement and looks at me darkly.

"Alright, I'm giving up." I throw my hands up in disgust. "You win -- I'll get you something to eat at the canteen, too. Satisfied?"

Dief jumps up, his tongue lolling. And I'm sure I'm _not_ imagining the smirk on his face. He's by my side in an instant, eagerly trotting forward.

We're meeting Ray for dinner directly after work. I promised to call for him at the 27th precinct and ...well... persuaded him to join me for a meal at the new canteen that's opened around the corner a week ago. Ray eats much too irregularly for his own good -- he's far too skinny. Try as he might, he won't be able to convince me that five to eight cups of coffee, flavored with M&amp;Ms, a donut and a sandwich (if he's lucky) constitute a healthy meal during the day.

We've been eating mostly pizza in the evening, at Ray's apartment. Ray having the number of the delivery service as his number one speed dial speaks _volumes_ about his regular eating habits... and he can't cook. He's been trying incessantly to convince me that takeout is the American custom for dinner, but somehow I rather doubt that. I've carefully offered to do the cooking myself, but Ray let me tell him a little about the ingredients I intended to use, and cut me off in the middle with a horrified exclamation. Somehow he refused to adapt to the idea that vegetables, nuts and fruits can actually be meshed rather enticingly to create a tasteful dish -- and I can't, for the life of me, eat another pineapple pizza.

Dief has a contrary opinion, I'm afraid. Oh well.

So the idea of trying out the canteen came up after talking with Detectives Huey and Dewey. They assured me they went there a lot -- several times a week, to be correct -- and that it was actually quite delicious. Even qualifying that statement (and talking to one of the employees there yesterday) encouraged me to bring Ray there today. Four meals to choose from, a salad bar, soups and...

"Yes, dessert, Dief. I understood you the first time, don't worry. But sweets aren't good for you so this time, you'll have to abstain. Don't look at me like that. I already conceded to let you have some of the main course, but here I do draw the line."

Dief doesn't dignify this statement with a response, instead setting off to the entrance of a building he knows very well. Oh, we've already reached the station. I nod to Sergeant Merrill and hold open the door for her to pass, then I step inside and try to find Ray amidst the customary chaos of the squad room.

"You looking for Vecchio?" Leftenant Welsh doesn't even wait for my confirmation; he just brushes past me in a hurry and jerks his hand towards interrogation room three, indicating I'll find Ray there. I doubt he can still hear it, but I utter a "Thank you kindly, sir." nonetheless.

Francesca catches up with me before before I'm even halfway across the squad room.

"Francesca, can I help you?"

She smiles at me, brushes a stray lock of her hair behind her left ear and puts a restraining hand on my sleeve. "Fraser, Ray's busy right now. The jeweler break-ins? You remember?"

"Ah. The robbery case." I nod and clear my throat.

"They got one of the guys, but the Lieutenant thinks he's not gonna talk. But Ray wanted to try until his lawyer arrives."

A hustle in the background, and an indignant voice speaking up loudly, demanding to see Leftenant Welsh, makes it clear that the lawyer in question has indeed arrived. Francesca just rolls her eyes exaggeratedly and takes her hand away from my arm, looking for the Leftenant.

"He went downstairs just a minute ago." I point out helpfully and breathe a secret sigh of relief as she sets off in search of him. Her attention still manages to make me flustered, I'm afraid. Ray thinks it's hilarious, and afterwards gleefully likes to point out how much he enjoys me blushing, 'keeping in style with my uniform', he tends to say. I flush a little bit more at that thought and crack my neck embarrassedly before continuing my way to the interrogation rooms.

And right on cue, Ray steps out of it, looking irritated, tired and more than just mildly annoyed. Elaine smiles at him apologetically as the lawyer hurries past her and pushes past Ray to join his client. "Couldn't keep him away from you for longer, Ray, I'm sorry. Didn't want to wait for Welsh, didn't want a coffee, and knew right where the interrogation rooms are."

Ray just rubs his eyes and mutters: "Well, good luck for the guy. Perp did his best imitation of a clam or whatever. Didn't get his mouth open -- not a single word in an hour. Threatened to pop him one, but the guy just didn't budge." He sighs disgustedly, and then he sees me.

I see the delighted smile he barely keeps in check -- his face reveals nothing, but his eyes shine at the sight of me, a warm blue that makes me shiver. Twelve hours without him, and all I've been able to think about has been him.

It's still so new, the thing between us. Like a newborn infant, as fragile, tender and heartbreakingly beautiful. It's like it shines, the emotion pouring out of his oh so expressive eyes, and I'm positive that my eyes would reveal at least as much if anyone were looking for it. Thankfully, though, so far no one has. Ray's eyes crinkle at the edges, and the corners of his mouth rise slightly. It has been three weeks as of today, and I still can't get enough of Raymond Kowalski. Not nearly enough. Never.

With a huge effort, I manage to tear my gaze away from his inviting lips, the strong jaw and the blonde beard stubble that feels so enticing against my tongue... I'm sure I must be blushing again, and curse my fair skin, but Ray just smiles a little bit wickedly, the amusement in his eyes telling me he knows exactly what I've been thinking about.

I smile back, exhilarated, and want nothing more than to touch him, but we're at the 27th precinct, and besides, I promised myself I'd get a good meal into Ray tonight before attempting anything else. He agreed, and I fully intend to keep him at his word. He is far too slim for his height, although I love the feeling of his pelvis bone so close under his smooth skin...

"Frannie, tell Welsh I'll be back tomorrow morning to get the paperwork done. Figure that suit'll get Manzetti off anyway, and besides, it's Tom's case. He just wanted me to try to crack that guy. Wish it'd have worked." Ray yells at Francesca over the noise in the room, grabs his coat and drags me to the door.

I shake my head, dazed, and just lose myself in the touch of Ray's warm, reassuring hand on my arm, allowing myself to be led out of the room, out of the building, and into the street.

"So, Frase, where is this great canteen you've been blithering on about?" Ray smiles at me.

"How did you know I was going to suggest...?"

"Ya know the Duck Boys. Dewey has a big mouth." Ray grins unrepentantly and does a little dance-step in the middle of the street. I clear my throat unsuccessfully and manage a little gesture to the next block of houses southwest of the station. Just where Dief is heading, ignoring me, as usual. Oh dear. I just remembered that it's prohibited to bring dogs into the canteen. Standard legal requirements. Diefenbaker will have to wait at the entrance -- and he certainly won't like it. I sigh and look over at Ray. He has put his hands into the pockets of the blazer he's wearing, a light charcoal grey and quite fetching, I might add, and seems to be lost in thought. His dark blonde hair is sticking up as enticingly as always, apparently having a mind of its own although I know now that the seemingly casual, windblown style is, in fact, carefully arranged. And despite it looking spiky and, ah yes, 'rebellious', it is, indeed, soft and... wonderful... to touch. Ahem.

I readjust the collar of my uniform and usher Ray closer to the entrance of a tall brick building. He squints at the small sign, almost hidden from view, that disclaims that this canteen, originally belonging to the office building next to it, is indeed open to all customers. It also makes it clear that smoking, cell phones and, yes, _dogs_, are banned from the premises.

Dief makes a protesting sound deep in his throat and looks at me reproachfully. I sigh again and kneel down next to him, taking his jaw and speaking directly into his face, enunciating clearly: "Yes, Dief, you are correct -- dogs aren't allowed here."

Ray makes a funny noise behind me but otherwise, stays quiet.

"I understand, and I apologize. I wasn't aware of that fact until shortly before we arrived here. No, of course I will not require you to wait here at the entrance next to that sign and the water dish. I know you are perfectly capable of returning here in... let's say half an hour. And _yes_, we _will_ bring you some food from here -- even if I forgot, which is quite unlikely to happen, I assure you -- Ray wouldn't let you go hungry."

Dief looks at Ray who winks at him, a small smile hiding in the corner of his mouth. "No, I'll make sure personally that Fraser don't forget you, Dief." Diefenbaker arrogantly overlooks the yipping Yorkshire terrier at the water bowl and takes off, walking casually back into the direction we came from. Surely some interesting scents he ignored in his eagerness to accompany us here. Ah well.

I turn back to Ray again, puzzled by his uncharacteristic silence.

Oh dear.

Suddenly I'm not getting enough air, excess lung capacity none withstanding, and feel my face getting warm, no, _hot_. His look...

He's watching me like there's no one in the world apart from the two of us, and the sheer, unadulterated _desire_ in his dilated dark blue eyes makes it impossible to breathe. I'm drowning in his intense gaze, helpless to resist, and, like in a dream, feel myself reach out to him. Firm, warm, finely-muscled flesh under my fingers -- his arm -- and I'm tugging him with me, up the stairs which are thankfully empty, but before we reach the head of the staircase, his arm is moving under mine, his hand turning, gripping my forearm instead, hard and insistent, and I let myself be led. Instead of ducking behind the hall-stand like I expected him to do, planning to do the same myself just moments ago to steal a kiss from those tempting narrow lips, he drags me into a smaller room with white tiles and a long line of sinks and towel dispensers. The washroom. Dear God. I groan almost imperceptibly and try to resist for a moment, but he's far too determined.

Through another open doorway into the second room we go, the urinals (unoccupied, too, I'm grateful to add) on one side facing a row of stalls on the other. A short glimpse tells me that their doors close almost level with the white-tiled floor, and I feel one of them slamming into its lock behind us before I can utter a single word of protest.

And Ray's mouth is on mine only a heartbeat later.

At first, only our lips touch, deceptively soft despite the urgency behind it, but almost immediately, Ray's hands come up to cup my jaw, he angles my head to his liking and his tongue enters my mouth. I bite back a groan and involuntarily arch into his touch. I feel him grinning against my lips and find enough self-restraint to prevent our kiss from getting even more intimate.

Ray takes his hands away from my face and looks at me, hurt quickly hidden in his expressive eyes. "Frase?" Though he means the word as a question, his husky voice makes my name a sensual caress. I look at him, still dazed, and instinctively lick my lips, still able to taste his intoxicating flavor. Desire flares up in my gut like a wildfire, and I can't speak, only stare at him, helpless, motionless.

I watch his eyes first get wide in sudden understanding, then dilate even further so that only a tiny ring of blue is left, and he takes a determined step forward. Now he's pressed against me again, only this time, he doesn't make a move to kiss me. He just presses his forehead against mine. I feel his warm breath on my face and inhale deeply. I feel him swallowing.

"Ben, ya got no idea how it turns me on."

I have to swallow before I can answer. "What?"

Oh, I'm monosyllabic. Oh dear.

"That big-eyed Mountie look. That little tongue action. Oh god, Frase, _everything_ about ya turns me on, and, fuck, ya know it!"

"I'm... I'm not doing it on purpose, Ray, I assure you..."

"I _know_.", Ray whispers emphatically before resorts to the simple method of kissing me again to prevent me from more talking. I exhale into his mouth, curiously light-headed, drugged by the addicting taste of his mouth, the feel of his hot, slick tongue stroking mine...

He breaks away again, cupping my jaw and locking our eyes as he backs me up against the wall to the right. I feel a hard, cold ledge bite into my back and grunt a little in discomfort. The window-sill. Ray took the toilet stall to the right which has a window (thankfully stained glass, I might add) that faces the court yard, two floors down... My brain registers all those facts before I maneuver us a little bit more to the left. I now feel the cold tiles against my back -- oh, and something else. Against my leg, I feel...

"Ray. Ray. Ray. Ray."

"Ben. Yer sayin'?"

"N-nothing, Ray." I close my mouth and bite back the groan that's rising in me at the feel of the hot, hard length of his cock, pressing against my thigh. I swallow convulsively. All the moisture in my mouth seems to have evaporated.

"Good. 'Cause I want you." Ray's grin is blinding in the dimly lit stall. I stare at him, transfixed -- he's clearly almost painfully aroused, eager to... Oh.

Now I can interpret his unusual silence. "You've been holding this back since we left the station, haven't you, Ray?" Now that I think back, he's been walking here not with his usual loose gait, but rather tense, the hands in his jacket pockets disguising any telltale -- bulge -- in his jeans. He just nods, jerkily, and the smoldering fire in his eyes flickers up even more.

He moves again, more slowly this time, carefully regarding my face. This... desire... between us is still so new. He must be scared I'd reject his advances in public.

My mind is in turmoil. I know the right thing -- the proper thing -- to do would be to tell him regrettably, but firmly, that this here is neither the place nor the time for... how did he call it? Some 'hanky-panky'? Oh yes. And if my father were here -- and I offer fervent prayer to whatever deity's watching us that I'll be spared his appearance right now -- he'd tell me the same thing. I can almost hear his dry tones.

Ray's face shuts down as I whip away from his embrace and frantically look around the stall. No flash of red serge, no fur-hat, no 'helpful' suggestions, no dry wit, no ghost - in short: no Robert Fraser. Thank god.

Ray's fingers are already feeling for the lock on the door. He jerks back in surprise the moment my hand covers his. "Fraser, what the _hell_ are ya doin'..."

More protests are smothered in our next kiss.

Something barely tamed struggles in my chest, trying to get out, and I let some of that wildness escape as I frame Ray's face and move _him_ back into the middle of the stall. I tilt back his head a little to get even better access to the hot wetness of his mouth and take my time to taste, really _taste_ him. Flavor explodes on my tongue -- cinnamon, a hint of chocolate and coffee, and a spicy taste that's uniquely Ray. I moan into his mouth and touch his tongue with mine. The softness of the inside of his lips, the smooth surface of his teeth, his palate and finally, the agile roughness of his tongue. I feel the uneven texture of his beard stubble against my palms and moan again, stroking along his jaw line, the whiskers stimulating the pads of my fingers.

Finally, Ray seems to have shaken off his paralysis and begins to respond to my oral caresses. His lips begin to move, and his tongue reciprocates my hesitant explorations. Suddenly, his hands are gripping me tightly around the waist, allowing full body contact.

This time, we both moan. His lean, lithe body is warm, no _hot_ through the thin t-shirt and the open jacket, and even two layers of wool and cotton can't prevent me from feeling that heat flare. Or from shuddering in reaction to his erection pressed even more firmly to my own groin now. I feel myself react and groan into his mouth, stumbling a little, but I soon regain my footing and turn him a little. He follows me, dazed, our mouths still locked together. It's like on the _Henry Allen_. My hands are on his face, and we're sharing our breath. Back then, I wished nothing more than for it to be a real kiss instead of a simple act of friendship to save his life -- even back then, I loved him... How could I say no to Ray now? No one sees us, in fact, the whole washroom is deserted.

I back Ray against the window-sill and move my hands from his face to his waist. He clearly has no idea what I'm about to do -- his breath huffs out a little in surprise as I lift him bodily onto the sill. But he gets it immediately. I feel his lips curve under mine; a smile and an assent. Still, he tries to follow me with his mouth the moment I reluctantly release his lips.

"Ben..." His eyes are huge and dark and fixed on my face. He reaches out with a trembling hand, the bracelet glimmering silver in the spare light, and caresses my face. From brow to nose, lips, chin, just touching me, softly, tenderly.

I smile at him, all my barriers down, and he inhales sharply, a whole world of meaning in his intent gaze. Love, trust, happiness, passion. All for me. My cut-off breath sounds like a sob in the sudden silence of the room. The next sound is metallic. His zipper, opening, parting down.

Almost detached, I watch my own hands, opening his jeans carefully, reaching inside to prevent the teeth from catching his underwear, and easing it all down to his ankles. My detachment disappears in the eruption of fire in my gut at the feeling of the soft, warm skin of his belly under my hands. At the sight of his nakedness, the expanse of golden skin revealed to my hungry gaze.

"Ray..." My voice is nothing more but a breathy whisper.

He nods jerkily and I watch his adam's apple bob in the long, smooth arch of his throat as he leans his head back against the cold pane of the window behind him.

I stand between his spread legs and admire the soft glitter of gold that leads from below his navel to his groin, the bush of soft pubic hair and his erection, already wet and shiny, that's just waiting for my touch. Long, slender, elegant, just like the rest of him. Dusky, and dark red at the tip. My finger reaches out to caress it. Running it along the hot, soft, incredibly silky skin, I swallow once more. The former dryness in my mouth is now replaced by a sudden rush of saliva. I can't wait to taste the feast spread out in front of me.

Ray's eyes spring open again as I run my hands up his belly to his chest, carefully ghosting over his nipples under the t-shirt. His ragged indraw of breath sounds like a sigh, and I feel the small nubs of flesh under my fingers pebble into hard points. I feel a smile curving my mouth at his responsiveness. Tugging and playing with them soon has him panting, his eyes locked on mine, tenderness and fire combined in their fantomless depths.

The next sound of his mouth sounds suspiciously like a whimper.

My mouth stretched around his cock, I can't smile this time, but the small sound above me makes my heart sing. My neck crinks painfully, but I mustn't lose visual contact. I need to see the wordless pleasure on Ray's face... His right hand burrows almost painfully into the short hair at my nape. I feel the warm metal of his bracelet against my sweaty skin, and shudder in reaction. The other hand unclenches from where it's been clutching at my shoulder, leaving me feeling bereft. The tiled floor is cold and unforgiving under my knees, but right now, I couldn't care less. I only feel a flush of intense heat run through me. I watch with hot eyes as Ray trembles even more and moves his left hand to his mouth, biting the cloth of his sleeve to prevent further sounds from emerging. His eyes beg, urging me on.

How could I resist? I take him in until he touches the back of my mouth, relishing the taste and the feeling of silk over steel pressing against my tonsils. I told Ray two weeks ago that it only takes determination and conscious relaxation of your jaw and throat muscles to do this, and I'm right -- it's no difficulty to swallow him down. From above me, a muffled groan escapes.

Ray's eyes look totally black now, I notice, but the faint current of amusement is almost immediately replaced by hunger, and, yes, _want_. I move my mouth up and down on his penis, licking and sucking, always swallowing deeply at the end. I want to see him lose all restraint, I want to hear him yell my name in the throes of passion, I want to bring him to climax, I want to taste his seed...

The door to the washroom creaks in its hinges. We both freeze, Ray on the sill, me on the floor, our eyes conveying our mutual panic at being discovered. I open my mouth and let his erection slip from my mouth, reflexively licking my lips. Ray takes a shuddering breath and moves his arm, wincing a little. The imprint of his teeth is clearly visible in the cloth of his sleeve. He holds his index finger to his lips and I nod.

Frozen in mid-movement, we barely dare to breathe.

A faucet is turned on. Sound of water running, then of paper towels being ripped from the dispenser. The jet of water ceases.

Rapid steps in the direction of the door.

The door creaks again and falls into its latch.

The man has left.

Simultaneously, Ray and I breathe again. The amusement in his eyes quickly fades again to desire as I resume my movements from before and take him into my mouth again. He is cold and has wilted a little, but my next swallow remedies that. I bring up my right hand and start to caress the inside of his thighs, luxuriating in the soft, warm skin beneath my fingers before I move them up to stroke his testicles, hot, swollen and already close to his body. Ray's close, and so am I.

I sigh a little around the wet flesh in my mouth, move a little on my knees and try to adjust the hardness between my legs. Standard RCMP-issued trousers _are_ comfortable, even 'baggy', but even those can only stretch so far.

Ray's eyes haven't left mine, and he has to raise his arm to his mouth again. His testicles tighten even more, and I feel a warm spurt in my mouth. I taste his semen, swallowing hungrily, relishing in its taste, already eager for more. His eyes widen, the pupils expanded to their maximum, his breath hitches in helpless rapture, his jaw locks so hard I see his the muscles in his cheeks bunch together, and he comes in my mouth in hot, scalding bursts. I swallow again and again.

An almost incomprehensible word presses past the barrier of cloth.

My name.

'Ben', not Fraser.

I smile.

My own erection is so hard it hurts, but this can wait. What can't wait is the indescribable tenderness in Ray's eyes. There's no trace of the tough attitude he likes to show to the world, none of the insecurity he expresses around State Attorney Stella Kowalski, no sign of the disillusionment that often colors his every action on the street. Here and now, he is mine. Utterly and completely, and I'm happier than I've ever been in my life.

I clean his penis with long, tender licks, then I can't resist and bury my face in his groin briefly, addicted to the smell and the warmth of the tender flesh.

"Jeezus, yer like a cat sometimes, Fraser. But hey..."

I look up again, my eyebrows raised.

"Ya know, I _like_ cats. A lot. And even more when they're all dark, shiny pelt, big blue eyes an' tender paws. Oh, and... _hungry_." His voice trails of suggestively, he winks at me and suddenly, once more there's not enough air to breathe in the stall.

"Ray...", I whisper thickly. My throat closes up at the mixture of passion and tenderness on his face.

"Whadda ya want me to do, Fraser?" He has slid from the window sill and is now only a hair's breadth away from me, his jeans still open, his t-shirt rumpled, his voice quiet but incredibly hot. "Want me to kiss ya? Stroke ya? Lick ya? Or..." He trails of suggestively and gives me a delighted grin at my predictable blush.

I forget all about our environment. The dangerous situation we are in, here, in a men's room in a public canteen. Forget about the possibility of discovery -- forget about everything but this volatile, insecure, endearing, strangely gentle man in front of me. He has told me he loves me five times now, counting today. At first, he couldn't say the words; I was similarly inhibited. My past had taught me to guard my heart, to keep my emotions in check. Only twenty days, and Ray has managed to crumble all my carefully erect walls. From the very day we met -- the day a stranger embraced me in front of Ray Vecchio's desk -- I couldn't really keep him out, although I tried for a long time. He's closer to me than anyone else on this Earth. He has touched my heart and my body in ways I had never envisioned, never expected. I didn't think life had that much in store for me. After Victoria, I had been sure that I would have to live my life without love...

But now, I _do_ have love.

I have Ray.

I can still taste his climax in my mouth, and his nearness is intoxicating. I can't resist the sensuality that radiates from him.

Don't want to.

And now, I know what I _really_ want.

Him.

"I want the 'or', Ray."

"Huh?" His brows are wrinkled in confusion, and he stares at me hungrily, uncomprehending. His fingers have somehow gotten underneath my tunic and are now stroking the skin at the small of my back. I shudder in reaction and press closer against his hand.

"I want you to..." My face is warm again, and, despite trying, I still can't get the words out. I think I see what you describe as 'dawning comprehension' on his face, but just to make it abundantly clear, I turn around, towards the wall next to the window, and lean against it with my forearms supporting my body, shifting, broadening my stance. Showing him with my body what I can't put into words.

Suddenly, his face presses against my neck, and I can feel him swallow. "Not very comfortable, Ben. Sure ya want that? That way?" His renewed erection is pressing hard against my backside, but he's still offering me a way out. The insecure note in his voice is still there as well -- like he told me two weeks and three days ago, he is still "so not used to gettin' to see behind that Mountie mask ya wear all the time, Frase", as he put it. Perceptive as usual. I haven't told him about Victoria. Not yet. Perhaps not soon. But one day, I will. What I foolishly took for love on her part made me first aware of that wild, untamed part of me that _needs_ to connect to another person on the deepest level, the part that's reckless, egotistical and incapable of caring about consequences. But Ray doesn't feed that part. Oh, he loves me reckless and untamed in love-making, but he hasn't got that darkness inside that almost made me ruin my best friend's career, family, home and reputation. It's safe for me to let go. And so I do. Not often, but now and then the need overwhelms me, and right now, I'm glad to let myself be overwhelmed.

Desire, lust and tenderness crash over me in waves. Ray's mouth is against my neck, biting me softly, then harder. Below the hairline where my collar will cover it. Even now, he's thoughtful and considerate.

I tremble against the cool tiles on my face.

His hands have opened my tunic. He doesn't try to remove it completely -- he knows here's neither the time nor the place for it -- but pushes aside my suspenders and the henley I'm wearing underneath. I don't know how he succeeded in opening my Sam Browne, but my passion-glazed brain doesn't even care. After all, Ray wore Turnbull's uniform once -- he must know how the snaps and buckles open...

My trousers are at mid-thigh now, and Ray groans in frustration because he doesn't succeed in getting them further down. My boots interfere. His lips curve against my now sweat-slicked neck in a reluctant smile. I smile myself, equally mute, communicating just the same.

He gives up and nudges my legs apart as much as the bunched amount of cloth allows. I feel a cold current of air against my backside and groan. Ray's mouth leaves my neck, and I strain a little backwards to resume contact with him, but encounter only air. A second later I do know why.

Ray kisses... my backside. From the place where my spine flows into my buttocks down the cleft, separating my cheeks and exposing me first to cool air (I shiver again), then to the hot, wet warmth of his tongue. I shudder against the wall, wondering how I can possibly stay on my feet at this sensation.

"Like that, Ben?" His voice is smooth and silky, in it layers upon layers of feelings...

I can only nod and open my legs wider, mutely begging him to continue.

He rubs his face against the skin of my buttocks, and I bite back a moan of delight at the rough texture of his beard stubble, caressing my tender flesh. Somehow I find my voice again. "Ray. Please."

He presses a kiss against my left cheek in wordless reassurance and, thankfully, stops teasing me.

I hear him rummage in the pockets of his jacket and then the sound of a small tube being opened. 'Always prepared, like the boy scouts'. Oh yes. The first touch of the slick gel against my anus makes me bite my lips in a desperate attempt to keep back the scream that lodges in the back of my throat. I tremble in anticipation.

Ray's fingers quickly warm it and begin to circle my opening, light and teasing. I push back against his flirtatious hand, wanting, _needing_ deeper contact.

Just -- like this. Yessss.

The slow, careful entry of one finger is pure torture. I try to deepen the penetration, but Ray holds my hips firmly, not allowing me to move. My own erection is positively painful now, pressing against my belly. I feel light-headed and out of control. It was heard enough not to climax with Ray's penis in my mouth, smelling, _tasting_ his excitement... and now, with him touching me in such an intimate way... I angle my hips a little. The short brush of my heated flesh against the cool tiles makes sure my bodily needs don't vanquish my wish to have Ray come inside me.

Two fingers, sure now and steady, raking across my prostate. I hear a soft, vulnerable sound in the air, almost a stifled sob, and realize I've uttered it. "Please." Barely audible. He just feels so _good_. Opening me up, preparing me, stoking the flames higher and higher, burning me, swallowing me whole.

No need for further preparation. It's a conscious thing to do, to relax the relevant muscles, although Ray claims it's unnatural to have that much control over autonomic reflexes. I press back against him, impatient, and he understands without words.

Yes, we are a true duet now.

A rustle behind me, and I feel his hot, renewed arousal rub wetly against my loosened opening, sending a sharp, jagged shard of desire through me. His mouth is back on my neck; his panting in my ear cause shivers to run down my spine. Ray wants me! Twenty days, and I still can't believe it. The heat between us warms me to the core. No more ice inside my heart. I'll never be cold again.

The first careful push against my anus comes almost as a surprise. This time, I can't hold back the moan, and hear Ray echo it behind me. Heat, and kind of a burning sting, despite the lubricant, then his hard, swollen penis is pushing into me. I feel so many things at once: The throbbing hot length that's slowly entering me, stretching me, filling me, the tickling sensation of his pubic hair against my testicles, the rasp of his zipper against my buttocks, the overwhelming urgency in my groin that screams for release -- and everything takes second place to the overwhelming rapture of experiencing him moving inside me.

Slow, but hard, determined push inside me, at just the right angle, hitting my prostate over and over again, back out half the way, then returning, again, again, again... I bite the inside of my cheek with each thrust. Ray is whimpering with each movement, barely audible, but oh, so damned hot. I don't know if I can say it, but I want to. So much.

"Harder, Ray. Fuck me harder." Just a murmur. Is this husky whisper really my voice?

He loses it.

Just like I thought he would.

He's thrusting almost brutally into me now, hard, fast, furious. Delightful. The smell of his musk surrounds me; I breathe in deeply, drunk on the smell. The friction inside me makes me lose my mind. Clumsily, I try to touch myself, but I still can't move lest I lose my balance against the wall. Ray is close now, so close to the brink, but he can still read my mind. One of his slim, elegant hands releases my hip and goes around my body. Touches my slick erection, strokes it urgently in time with his thrusts. Tight and wonderful, incessantly. Moving rhythmically, perfectly in sync with his thrusts, just like the dancer he is. His cock deep inside of me hits my prostate again, and at the same time, his thumb touches the tip of my penis.

Now _I_ lose it. I can't help myself. My whole body jerks and shudders, my arms and legs threaten to give out, but I stay upright due to pure self-control. I feel myself spasming in Ray's tight, warm grip, and, incredibly, a second time when his teeth sink into my neck close to my shoulder. He gasps my name, almost soundless, breathless, just a bare ghost of a word, and begins to jerk inside of me. "Benny." Does he know what it does to me, this verbal caress? Ray Vecchio 'invented' this form of my name, an affectionate version of the too formal 'Benton', he told me, but he never said it with this wealth of meaning. For him, it was just a nickname for a good friend. For Ray Kowalski it is a baring of his soul. He never says it in public; even only uses 'Ben' when we're alone. Only when our bodies and souls merge, I hear it, like he can't help himself, and by the sound of it, it's more intimate for him than 'I love you'.

I feel hot, rapidly cooling wetness run down the inside of my thighs, and shudder in response as Ray pulls carefully out of my body. It hurts a little, but I don't mind. On the other hand, my trousers-- I yerk around in panic, frantically reaching for the roll of toilet paper. Dear god, I'll have to wear this uniform for the rest of the day, or at least until I reach the safety of my own bureau at the consulate. Bypassing numerous people on the streets, Constable Turnbull on Guard Duty and, most dangerous of all, the sharp eyes of Inspector Thatcher. Any telltale stain, and I'd rather die of embarrassment than leave this room.

Ray touches my arm softly, quirks one eyebrow and hands me a tissue. I clean myself clumsily, then close my tunic. My hands are shaking.

A close inspection reveals no sign of our recent activities; even the knees of my trousers are spotless. A very clean washroom, thank God. I breathe a huge sigh of relief.

Ray has been watching me closely and is right now fastening his jeans. My eyes are automatically drawn to the slowly disappearing vee of bright white cloth and perhaps ten centimeters of smooth golden skin. The rasp of the zipper is loud in the silence. He corrects the fit of his jacket and simply looks at me. A little bit tender, a little bit sad, a little bit triumphant and a little bit challenging.

"Ray?" I don't know why my voice sounds so insecure.

"Ben, sometimes I just wish..." His voice trails off, sounding wistful.

"What? What do you wish?" I'd give it to him. Everything. Everything he wants.

"Sometimes I just wish I could mark ya where everyone'd see. Or love ya like this without hafta worry 'bout yer uniform." He sounds unaccustomarily sad, but resigned.

I open my mouth.

"No, Frase, ya don't hafta say anything. 'S not yer fault, I know dat. Ways of the world an' such."

Oh, how I wish we wouldn't have to follow the stifling rules society insists upon. But Ray is policeman, and so am I. We simply can't risk to expose our relationship to the prejudiced eyes of the Chicago PD. Or the whole Western world, for that matter... I know all that, _he_ knows all that, but sometimes, it still hurts.

So I just nod and reach out to caress his jaw. He closes his blue eyes a bit in pleasure, smiles a little and I smile back, seeing the sadness in his steady gaze disappear. We still have so much time before us.

And who knows how much the world might change in all that time...

The main door creaks again; footsteps approach.

_Not again._

I share a look with Ray that's half panic, half resignation. We hardly dare to breathe, even less move, before the unseen man leaves again -- it would be more than just a trifle suspicious to leave a toilet stall _together_.

Moments later, Ray grips my biceps and whispers into my ear: "Everything clear, Fraser?"

I strain to hear whether we are alone in here or not, but can't detect anybody else's presence. "Yes, it would appear so."

He reaches around me and unlocks the door.

We step out before anyone else enters. Cleaning our hands at the wash-basins, we share a conspiratory look. We're both still breathing faster than normal, and Ray looks exceptionally good with the flush of color on his angular cheekbones.

He runs his fingers through his hair to spike it a little bit more neatly, then looks at his watch and grins. "Fraser?"

"Yes, Ray?"

"Sorry, no lunch in yer canteen, buddy. We have ten minutes before Welsh starts to scream for me again."

I confirm that with a look on my own wrist and groan almost imperceptibly. So much for my good intentions -- Ray didn't even get a sandwich, and Dief will _kill_ me. Oh dear.

"Just a second, Fraser." The door bangs shut behind him.

I step out more slowly, still a bit overwhelmed with my own recklessness. Making love in the washroom. Dear God. I still can't believe it.

Stepping out into the hallway, I start looking for Ray. He is back a second later, three wrapped packages under his arm.

A challenging look. "Here -- a chili burger for me, a steak sandwich for Dief, an' a chicken-salad-sandwich for you. An' no complaining, 'kay?"

"That's very thoughtful of you, Ray." Indeed it is. "Thank you."

"Yer welcome." His smile is conspiratory and he walks close enough to me so that our shoulders brush on the way down the stairs. He's unwrapping his sandwich while stepping down the stairs, a definitive spring in his step.

Diefenbaker is waiting for us at the entrance. The small terrier is no longer there, and the water bowl is empty. I brace myself inwardly and open my mouth to explain why I couldn't keep my promise (or rather, _bribe_, Ray would point out gleefully). Once you let a wolf save your life, he's going to make you pay and pay and pay...

But Ray is faster and steps between us before Dief can do more than tilt his head and look at me reproachfully. "Dief." He kneels down next to him and enunciates clearly: "Sorry, Dief, it's totally my fault. See, I kept Fraser from gettin' lunch. We got... distracted. Yeah." Dief whines and manages to sound not only suffering, but also _knowing_. Only three weeks, and he can read us perfectly clear. Ray produces the third package with the air of a magician. "But look, I brought ya something to eat. Steak sandwich. An' ya know, the Mountie didn't even complain, so take it before he remembers yer not s'pposed ta eat dat." Dief only hesitates a second before he snatches the sandwich out of Ray's grasp and unwraps it in a heartbeat. Disquieting skill he has developed.

"An' I kept the right one for yer, Fraser." Ray grins totally disarmingly and hands me the last sandwich which is indeed chicken, with lettuce and sprouts, of all things. He knows me well. Actually quite tasty, and even remotely healthy. If only I could convince him to adopt my nutritional habits...

Ray is tearing into his sandwich like a starving man on the way back to the station, so our conversation is limited. For this I'm immensely glad, although it's not the food on my part that's preventing me from talking. I bite into my sandwich, but I don't taste it any longer. No, I'm rather focused on a totally different sensation that isn't connected to my stomach or taste buds.

The RCMP-issued trousers are comfortable under normal circumstances. They don't restrict movement. They offer plenty of room. They don't chafe.

And yet...

I'm intensely aware of my nether regions. No, it's not that -- I did a pretty thorough job with cleaning myself, and although Ray was a little bit rough (on my urging), it's not him I feel now, and I surely won't have any problems with sitting down behind my desk at the consulate.

Alright. It _is_ him. But in a different way.

Walking the short distance to the 27th precinct, I feel Ray Kowalski's semen slowly leaking from my anus, feel my underwear cling to the cleft of my buttocks and rub against the sensitized flesh there. It's irritating, it's embarrassing, and it's arousing as hell.

I stop Ray before the station house. "Ray."

"Huh?" Distractedly, he looks up from munching his sandwich, so endearingly unknowing of my predicament. His eyes widen slowly as he gets a closer look at the carefully banked heat in my own gaze. He swallows hard, and I feel myself drawn, again, to the long, elegant curve of his neck, just begging to be kissed. Licked. Claimed.

"Ben. Take the key." He presses a small metallic object into my hands. I stare at it incompehendingly. "To my apartment. I'll be there'soon as I can. One and a half hours, tops. 'Kay?" He starts to look concerned when I can't answer him at first.

I shake myself, hard. I am a Mountie. I can do that. Back to the consulate. Change of clothes. Walk to Ray's apartment. Wait for him. Yes. "Understood, Ray."

Only after he's given me an incandescent smile and stepped into the precinct do I realize that we've both entered totally new territory.

He gave me a key to his home.

And my heart sings all the way back to the consulate.

  


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**Author's Note:**

> _"due South"_ story by [allaire mikháil](mailto:Allaire@gmx.at), 8.004 words, Fraser/RayK, Fraser POV, PWP, rated NC-17.
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own the characters (wish I did, though) and don't get any money off this. The respective rights belong to the Pauls, Alliance Atlantis, and various other people, while this story belongs to me. No copyright infringement is intended.
> 
> Author's Notes: This story was my first attempt to really _earn_ a NC-17 rating - for m/m sex, and m/m sex alone. Considering it earned the Serge Award 2001 in the PWP category, I'd say it was at least partially successful. *eg* The location was inspired by a similar canteen (and a similar washroom) that made me think of exactly the situation described in the story. Unfortunately, I don't have a hot Mountie around to drag into a stall and debauch to my convenience. Too bad.
> 
> I'm kind of sorry for my written use of Ray's dialect, especially since I'm not absolutely certain I haven't made a huge blunder somewhere. Still, back when I wrote this story, I felt I couldn't just ignore Ray's speech pattern. I hope it doesn't detract too much from the story.
> 
> This story would never have been written without Chris, tape-goddess, the soundtrack from Irene, and the encouragement I got from [](http://moonilicious.livejournal.com/profile)[**moonilicious**](http://moonilicious.livejournal.com/) who was the first to tell me she liked this story, even back when it was still unbeta'd.
> 
> Beta thanks to: Sylvie, whom I owe a huge amount of gratitude, especially for correcting several _very_ embarrassing typos. Ouch.


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